Starrdom

A lone burn barrel, flame blossoming within, sits in a dark abandoned alleyway. Well, would be an abandoned alleyway except for my intruding presence. I stand before the barrel, somber mood enveloping me, as a bag of adult diapers is firmly clutched in my hand at my waist. I slowly raise them up and drop them into the flames, grimacing as I watch them alight.

Such a good bit, wasted.

You get massacred by Mike, yet again, and the ONLY thing I’m left with, is a golden bit that gets ignored and trashed before it’s given a chance to gestate. I’m not saying it was my greatest idea, but sheesh, I could have at least ran it for a week or two. Now, all I have from that match is yet another loss to my record.

I feel like I should probably start caring about that. Maybe after this 8 month long vacation I can turn things around? Why does it feel like I’m covered in ring rust? I can’t help but feel this overwhelming sense of disappointment.

When I heard I was going up against the spawn of the great Jatt Starr, I have to admit, I was filled with joy. You see, I’ve recently binge watched the old HOTV network, and I’ve become a bit of a Starr-fanatic! I watched Jatt Starr beat Aceldama for the World Title on Turmoil. I was on my feet for the duo of Starr and one of my idols Max (Shell) Kael as they won the tag titles from Ascended Supremacy!

Let’s just say, when I saw my name across from Gilda Starr, I couldn’t wait to step in the ring! 22 month layoff or not, I was ready and anxious! The Bandits have been a tear recently. Winning* the LSD title. Winning* the Tag Titles. Getting a match against Zionwood for the 118th time! I mean, things are looking up for the eGG Carton!

But yet, I’m full of questions. Which is my lot in life. No matter what hand is dealt to me, I can’t stop myself from the myriad of questions. Here is my shot at Starrdom, but I ask myself, “How will I fare against the daughter of someone so impressive?” “Will she be as good as her father?” “Can she spin a yarn the same way as her illustrious Pappa?” “Clearly she has to come up with something better than ‘Bobby’s fat…’ Right?”

…

Ugh!

Cue the disappointment.

Bobby’s fat. Well, not really. Bobby has moobies. Let’s make him poop his pants!

I can’t help but chuckle, the twelve year old in me, imagining shitting my pants in the middle of the ring. I mean, come on, that’d be hilarious. Who knew the Starr family was so into the scat stuff!?! I mean, if Gilda wants a Cleveland Steamer so badly, who am I to disappoint? Maybe when I have her head in my tights I can give her a modified Dutch Oven?

Cancer told me I might want to change up my finisher for this one. He’s afraid I might be cancelled on Twitter. Forcing a woman’s head in my tights apparently is bad all of a sudden. Or was it Dooze who said that? I can’t remember, it’s been so long since this match was announced I almost forgot all about it.

It’s kind of funny. A week ago I was home, boarding up windows. Stocking my shelves with cans bone yard teeth and bottle of Sunkist. I was ready to face the wrath of Hurricane Laura. Then, like a typical woman, she decides the change her mind at the last second and go terrorize the neighbors instead. Now, I’m standing her in front of this barrel of fire and I can’t help but think, I’d rather get beat by a Hurricane, then get beat by a child who uses her father’s legacy to elevate herself to a status that she hasn’t earned.

But there is one question that I have yet to voice, that keeps running through my mind, over and over, and over again.

“Do you think I can get Jatt Starr’s autograph after the match?”